The Friendship of Dreaming
by RogerCrane
Summary: Han and Leia. A long, hot night. Filled with dreams and intent. Followed by the cold reality of morning. [This fic is now part of the FRIENDS series. Consider it a prequel. Thanks to my beta and BFF, Leela Starsky.] WARNINGS: L, S


**The Friendship of Dreaming**

**by CorellianBlue**

**(first published as 'Dreaming' in 1999, revised 2015, tweaked 2020)**

_Warnings: language, sexual content_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: originally published as "Dreaming". Add this to the FRIENDS series of fics, as 21 years later, I've realised that Han Leia have already done that; it was just me who was too dumb to see, so the fic has been tweaked as they have requested. It would go before "Just Friends", a prequel of sorts.**

* * *

"Han?"

A female voice—her voice—quietly calling his name. Insistent, yet soothing. Confident, whispering tones.

"Han?"

His head turns slowly to look at her, look _up_ at her. She floats above him, suspended in the dusky sky, her lips curving into an approving smile. Her image glows above him, shimmering and insubstantial. There is a translucent quality to her skin. She appears ghostly, wraith-like.

He can't breathe, won't breathe; he is afraid the slightest exhalation, the softest whisper of his breath, will be enough to extinguish her presence, and scatter the substance of her being like pollen in the wind.

Slowly, she solidifies. Her eyes, sultry-dark with promise and carefully nurtured secrets, a smoldering contrast to the moonlight reflecting off her skin. Long cinnamon hair cascades down her back and around her shoulders, tumbling down to not-quite cover her gently swaying breasts.

Entranced, he lies trapped beneath her, trapped beneath her gaze, his mind a mess of incoherent pleasure. Her body slides down onto his, her warmth enveloping him. It is a delicious, shivering, devouring sensation.

He tentatively traces the outline of her slender torso, hands gently caressing the slope of hips and thighs. Her flesh comes to rest moistly against his and her eyes close under heavy lids. He groans, sighs with appreciation, with long repressed desire.

He has dreamed of this moment. Lain awake at night, alone in his bunk, wondering what this could be—would be—like. Until now it had been just that: a dream. A crazy fantasy of a frustrated, over-sexed, obsessed spacer.

_This must be real._

His senses are invigorated, bewitched. No dream could _feel_ like this. He pushes away doubts that threaten to ruin this moment.

Her legs are folded up on either side of his hips. Her eyes flicker open, lips twitching mischievously.

"Looks like I finally have you where I want you," she tells him.

His tongue is thick and clumsy in his mouth. His mind becomes a blank and he fumbles for a quick-witted response.

He wants to tell her he always knew there would be benefits to serving under her.

Wants to tell her how beautiful she is; how wonderful she feels.

Wants to tell her how much he has longed for this moment.

But she is stroking his chest, her fingers playing with the soft hair she finds there and brushing across his nipples. His skin tingles at her touch and a shiver of lust spikes through him.

Words fail him. He swallows, his throat dry and tight.

"Leia," he mumbles inadequately.

The sound of her easy laughter calms his thoughts, eases his tension, and a wry grin settles across his face. His hands caress her thighs, her buttocks, the small of her back.

She feels good, so good. He aches for her.

"Lost for words, Solo?" she teases, gently pushing the hair from his forehead. "If I had known this was all it would take to shut you up, I might have done this sooner."

His eyes close as her fingertips trail the side of his cheek, and when he opens them again, her face is close to his. She kisses him, mouth open and stretching against his, lips lifting his, her breath sweet and inviting. He compliantly follows her lead, accepting her warm, probing tongue into his mouth. Her hair falls about their faces and the fresh scent of her fills his nostrils, engulfing him.

His senses are swamped with her.

_How did this happen? How did we—she—get here?_

The idea is fleeting, a wisp of fog, disappearing the moment he tries to give chase. Then there are her hands again...soft, teasing...

Does it really matter how this began?

She is finally here, in his arms, doing all the things he has dreamed of her doing for so long. He won't doubt the reality of this for a moment longer. Can't afford to.

With her hands firm against his chest, she pushes herself upright to tower above him. Her hands cover the backs of his and she drags them up to her breasts, encouraging him to cup her in his palms. Her skin is silk in his fingers. He wets his lips in anticipation of taking her breasts in his mouth, of tasting the heat of her body.

Smiling, she asks, "Where have you been all my life?"

He has no idea how, but he finds the sense to respond. "Right under your eyes. Waiting."

Delight and affection colour her laughter, and she tilts her chin provocatively.

"A bit like now, wouldn't you say?"

He wants to shake his head in wonder.

_Where has this woman come from?_ _Is this really Leia?_

He feels as if he is a teenager with a girl for the first time, giddy with strange new emotions and sensations, and he momentarily doubts he knows his way around a woman's body—_this_ woman's body.

He has watched her from a distance for nearly two Standard years, only able to fantasize what she looks like beneath the senatorial robes and the ugly Rebel uniform. He has wanted this for so long, it has begun to inundate his waking thoughts.

Has she ached for this as much as him?

She is staring into his eyes, deep and trusting. Her lips remain closed, but he can hear her thoughts. She tells him she has dreamed of this moment, to feel his body pressed against hers. She is tired of maintaining the pretense she does not care for him.

She has been afraid to reveal these emotions. Unleash her desires. Appease her appetite.

She has barricaded herself away, behind duty and responsibilities, and her own personal war against the Empire.

Everything—everyone—she has ever loved has been brutally taken from her. She does not want to lose him, too.

Perhaps she has also been afraid that he does not feel the same for her.

But now is the right time. She will live for this moment. She will live for him and for herself.

An unfamiliar wave of elation swells up deep within his chest, ripples across his soul. He is touched by how much of herself she has revealed to him. She is as beautiful in strength and spirit as she is of face.

Without hesitation, his own thoughts flow from his lips: "I love you, Leia."

Her fingertips stroke his lips and she smiles, for him.

"I know, Han," she whispers. "I love you, too. I always have."

Astride him, she begins a slow, sensual, rhythmic motion. Her long hair falls across her open mouth as her head dips, her neck stretches.

His hands drop to her hips and he slowly lifts her up, allowing her to slide down onto his body by herself.

She leans down and kisses him, hot and unhurried, her hands running through his hair, her hips continuing to sway.

His hands slide up her body, collect her breasts and bring them to his mouth. His lips caress each delicate nipple, drawing her desire and excitement into him.

Her thrusting increases. She is consumed with her need for him, her own pleasure, and yet her hands never stop stroking him, caressing and squeezing the muscles of his shoulders, his arms, his chest, gliding down across his flat stomach. He writhes beneath her with unabashed hunger for her.

Both crave release.

Both never want this delicious torture to end.

The moments and sensations ensnare…

…gasps of fire and fervor…

…taste of lips and mouths and skin…

…musky scent of lovemaking…

…bodies joined as one…

…skin on skin—

* * *

_**BAM!**_

Han's eyes flew open and he lurched upright in his bunk.

_Thump_ _thump_ _THUMP!_ against the bulkhead.

A loud Wookiee howl carried through the closed hatch to his cabin, concerned and questioning. The adrenaline coursing through his system helped to quickly orientate himself. He rubbed a hand across his flushed face and through sweat-slicked hair. Perspiration beaded his skin and the air in the small cabin was stifling. The ship's environmental control systems had picked a fine night to go persnickety. He swore, the never-ending summer on this godsforsaken moon was going to be the death of him; it only seemed to have two temperatures: twilight on Jakku or a chilly morning on Tatooine.

"I'm _fine_, Chewie!" Han hollered blearily to his partner. "Go back to sleep."

A low rumble escaped his lips as he realised he'd been dreaming—fantasizing—again. Apparently loud enough to disturb Chewbacca, although with the Wookiee's sensitive hearing Han hadn't necessarily been too noisy, just loud enough to be embarrassing. He didn't doubt his partner would tease him mercilessly over the next few days.

Han's growl turned into a whimper as he rolled over onto his stomach and hugged the pillow.

_Fuck…_

Every night for a week, Leia had visited him while he'd slept. He'd had the best sex of his life in those dreams.

_Fuck!_

Not all those dreams had been about him and Leia in his bunk or her bed. Sometimes he dreamed of simple things—like walking along a deserted beach with Leia's hand in his, their toes squishing through the sand as they strolled along the water's edge, enjoying the pleasure of each other's company. He had also dreamed about watching her braid her hair, fascinated by her skillful fingers.

Han really couldn't take much more of this.

Angrily kicking the sheets off his hot legs, he was hyper-aware of the pulsing ache in his groin, the stiffness pressed hard against the mattress. His skin prickled with heat, sweat and the echo of Leia's touch.

_Why Leia?_ he moaned inwardly, his face pressed into the pillow.

There were more tempting and attainable women among the ranks of the Rebel troops: a few who he'd approached but had turned down his proposition; a few who had approached him, but he hadn't been interested; and one or two he'd actually slept with.

So why Leia? Why now, after all this time?

Yes, she was an attractive young woman. Quick-witted and spirited. He enjoyed her company when she wasn't preaching the Alliance creed to him.

But she was a princess, for fuck's sake. A spoiled child of the Royal House of Alderaan. The thought of a princess—not just this princess, but _any_ princess—and a guy like him...well, that wasn't just a dream. That was an impossibility. A smack-you-in-the-face-you-lecherous-bastard impossibility

And yet...what was it about this amazing woman that had recently aroused his interest?

'_Interest'?_ _You call this 'interest'? Lately, you can't think of anything _but_ her. You're acting like a love-sick kid._

_Love…_

His hyperspace-skipping thoughts ran him head-first into another gravity well of reality.

He didn't love her. He _liked_ her and desired her sexually. Any more than that and he'd be deluding himself. And Leia.

Besides, he hadn't told her that he loved her.

He'd only _dreamed_ he had told her that he loved her.

Just another part of this moronic, pathetic fantasy he had.

Maybe he'd dreamed that he told her he loved her to talk her into his bunk. There had been other woman he said an awful lot of things to get them into bed. But he'd never actually used _those_ words before.

_I love you._

And he was nearly—though not 100 percent—certain that he wouldn't use _those_ words for his own selfish, salacious benefit. Playing with someone's emotions did sit right with him; even he had his limits.

_I love you, too._

Leia's voice echoed in Han's mind.

_I always have…_

Sometimes, when he caught her looking at him when she didn't think he was noticing, he could almost imagine maybe she _did_ feel something more for him than friendship. Whether what she felt was love, though…

_Fuck!_

Han punched at the pillow and ground his teeth together.

_This is ridiculous! I don't wanna marry her_. _I just wanna fuck her!_

He pushed a hand through his hair again and sighed.

_There are far easier targets around here than her. Let it go, you fucking moron. Unlock and re-aim._

Restlessly turning over onto his back, Han thumped the bulkhead with a clenched fist and settled his legs onto the mattress. The heat was obviously getting to him. What he needed was a solid night's sleep, free of interruptions from Wookiees and princesses.

He closed his eyes, trying to clear the jumble of images from his mind. His legs twitched uneasily in the stillness and he rolled onto his side in a vain attempt to find some relief. Despite the heat, he dragged the pillow across his face and wrapped his arms around his head. He sighed again, trying to relax.

_Forget about her, Solo. You don't need that kinda trouble._

For long, oppressive moments he lay on his bunk, listening to his own heavy breathing and trying not to imagine where Leia was at that point in time.

What was she doing?

What was she wearing? Or wasn't.

The ECS finally kicked in again with a _whump_, sending a cool breeze skittering across his naked body. It succeeded in cooling the temperature of his burning skin, but not the effect of his dream.

_Just a dream. Just a stupid dream…_

* * *

Leia knows she is dreaming, but she doesn't care.

Her eyes are closed, but she knows where she is.

It is night. A summer's night, for there is still a lazy warmth left over from the late afternoon sun. She lies on the familiar softness of her bed, a deep pillow cradling her head. Somewhere a cool breeze has entered through an open window and caresses her skin. In the near distance, she hears the laughter from a dinner party that she should be attending. And over that, a colony of krickers chirps in the heat of the night.

_Alderaan, _Leia whispers to herself. _Home._

Slowly, tentatively lest the dream disappear, Leia opens her eyes. She stares at the canopy above her bed, her gaze skimming across the cascading fabric. Soft light from the illumes outside the widow bathe the room in glowing blue-white. With her eyes open, she can now focus on the voices. Her ears strain to discern the voice of her father. Logically, she knows she shouldn't be able to hear the conversation in the room Bail Organa uses for intimate dinner parties, for it is located on the other side of the palace and three levels down from her personal suite. Regardless, she hears the rich sound of her father's voice and his loud chuckle makes her smile.

Home. She is home. Home and safe.

Beneath the covers, Leia wriggles her toes and closes her eyes again, luxuriating in the simplicity of the dream. Her dreams of Alderaan are seldom so peaceful and carefree, so she makes the most of this. She drifts, floating on remembrances that have long since passed.

There is another presence here with her in this room—in her dream. It is a familiar presence and one Leia knows well, yet there is also something slightly threatening about it.

She props herself up on her elbows and searches, scanning the dark corners of her dream.

He stands in front of a window, hips casually tilted, arms hanging loose. The heavy blaster pistol is absent from his thigh. Illuminated from behind, his face is in shadows and unreadable, but she can tell he is staring at her intently.

The pulse flicks in her throat and in her core.

Without thought, Leia speaks his name. "Han."

Han steps into the light, moves towards her, and she finally sees his face. The intensity in his eyes diminishes and he smiles his lopsided smile. Her stomach flips the way it always does whenever he smiles at her like that.

She can't let him know the affect he has on her.

"What are you doing here?" she quietly asks.

He stops suddenly, his smile broadening at her defensive tone. "You invited me."

"I invited you?"

Her voice quavers at the thought he might really know how she feels.

"Why should I invite you into my bedroom?"

…_into my dream…_

Han half-shrugs and moves towards the bed again. "So, I anticipated the invitation. Can't fault a guy for trying. You want me here, don't you?"

She shakes her head. "You can't stay."

"Why not?"

She responds quickly, before she has time to create a plausible reason why he needs to leave and before he can argue against it.

"My father—"

"Are you afraid what your father will think?"

"No!" Her denial echoes off the walls and she averts her gaze. "No," she says more quietly. Then her eyes return defiantly to his. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"I know you don't scare easily, Leia," Han agrees. "But you sure as hell intimidate me."

She folds her arms across her chest, irritated by his teasing tone.

"You're afraid of something," he continues. He stops at the end of her bed, places his hands on his hips and suggests, "Me, maybe?"

"You?!"

"Okay, maybe not me," he concedes. His brows rise in consideration. "Maybe you're afraid that you've fallen in love with me."

She counters his warm, open gaze with a withering glare. "Now you're being absurd."

"Am I?"

The honesty and sincerity on his face is unfamiliar to her. For a moment she feels flustered and stumbles to respond.

_Is this really Han?_

"W-why should…I-I d-don't—"

"Don't what?"

The tenderness in his voice calms her racing thoughts and heart. She returns his solemn gaze.

"I don't," she tells him. "I just don't."

The smile slides up his face. "Let me, then."

Entranced, she watches as he sheds his vest, then pulls the shirt over his head. His gaze momentarily leaves hers as he deliberately places the clothing at the foot of her bed.

She studies the strong lines of his upper body, aware of the sudden increase in her pulse as her eyes move over him—the broad shoulders and muscular arms, the fine hair across his chest, tapering down to a flat stomach and slender waist. She has seen him shirtless on numerous occasions—mostly from a distance; sometimes at close range; infrequently with the luxury of stealth to cover her study.

She continues to watch as he scuffs the boots from his feet, unbuckles the belt and pushes his trousers to the floor. The sight of him, naked in front of her, makes her ache. She wonders how it would feel to touch him, to be held by him. Wonders how it would feel to press her face against his chest and to feel his arms around her.

Han kneels at the end of the bed, then moves towards her on all fours, hazel eyes golden with desire: feline and hungry.

Somehow, he is under the covers with her, above her, kissing her. His mouth tastes hot and sweet. His hands, like fire brands, move across her body, caressing her arms, her breasts, her hips. Her legs compliantly part to accommodate his body. Then he is inside her, a part of her, and he begins his slow, stretching rhythm.

Staring at each other, entranced with each other, they move as one. Sensations and emotions well up from deep within her. She has never had a lover before, yet she intuitively knows how it should feel. Like fulfillment. Contentment.

Their bodies roll, tumble, and then she is above him. Absorbed with the sight of him lying beneath her, she ignores a loud thumping noise sounding from outside the window. However, as she has come to expect of this wary man, Han turns towards the sound and he is momentarily distracted.

"Han? Han?"

She smiles as his attention returns to her. As he lies beneath her, there is something different about the way he looks; his face seems younger, unguarded.

She slides herself down onto his body, enjoying the sensation of the emptiness inside her being filled. His hands move down her sides to her hips as she slowly sinks onto him. Her body comes to a gentle stop, pressed against his. Her eyes close and she hears him utter a contented groan.

Two become one.

Her eyes open to find him staring back at her, enraptured. He seems like a different man—not the over-confident, arrogant smuggler who swaggers his way around the Rebel base. It is so strange to see him like this, dumbstruck, without a quick, sarcastic remark leaping from his mouth.

"Looks like I finally have you where I want you," she tells him.

Her fingers run up his forearm, trace a vein, squeeze his biceps, then along the prominent clavicle and down his chest, relishing the different shapes and textures of his skin.

"Leia," he mutters.

She laughs fondly, and the laughter brings a crooked grin to his lips. Work-roughened hands move over her thighs, her buttocks and to the small of her back.

She pushes the hair from his forehead and asks, "Lost for words, Solo? If I had known this was all it would take to shut you up, I might have done this sooner."

Wanting to feel every part of him, she gently touches his cheek, fingers brushing the shadow of stubble. His eyes close wistfully. Her fingers stop near his mouth and she has an uncontrollable urge to feel his lips against hers, to taste him again, to experience the pleasure she knows he will give her.

She leans down close to his face. His eyes open and she kisses him, her tongue sliiping inside his mouth as she cradles the sides of his face.

The kiss, and the control she had over him, enhances her desire.

She rises above him, astride him, and pulls his hands to her breasts. His hot palms firmly cup her. Her craving increases, and she knows she is nearing a point of pleasure that she has never experienced before.

Above all this, she is amazed at how quickly this has happened between them, how wonderful this dream is…

In reality, there is nothing like this between them.

Compelled to express this contradiction. She asks him, "Where have you been all my life?"

His answer surprises her. "Right under your eyes. Waiting."

She laughs at the truth in his response.

"A bit like now, wouldn't you say?"

Leia stretches out with her feelings and it is as if she can read his mind. She senses that he has dreamed of this moment, but she decides that she had already guessed that. Han Solo has never hidden the fact that he is an overt, sensual being. He exudes it: in his loose-limbed stride; his penetrative scowl; his lopsided, little-boy smile.

And then it hits her, deep in the stomach.

She has also dreamed of this moment. She has yearned to feel his body pressed hard against hers. Hard into hers. Feel him within her.

Weary of the pretense, she aches for this man. She has been afraid to reveal her emotions. Unleash her desires. Appease her appetite.

And it scares her. All of it scares her.

It has been too easy to hide behind duty and responsibility.

Far too easy for her to run away and hide, lest she loses him like she lost Alderaan.

And what if he doesn't return these emotions that she feels for him?

What if he rejects her?

But now is the right time. She will live for this moment. She will live for him and for herself.

Han smiles for her and tells her, "I love you, Leia."

His simple words ignite something within her. She touches his lips.

"I know, Han. I love you, too. I always have."

Astride him, she begins a slow, sensual, rhythmic motion. Her long hair falls across her open mouth as her head dips, her neck stretches.

His hands drop to her hips and he slowly lifts her up, allowing her to slide down onto his body by herself.

She leans down and kisses him, hot and unhurried, her hands running through his hair, her hips continuing to sway.

His hands slide up her body, collect her breasts and bring them to his mouth. His lips caress each delicate nipple, drawing her desire and excitement into him.

Her thrusting increases. She is consumed with her need for him, her own pleasure, and yet her hands never stop stroking him, caressing and squeezing the muscles of his shoulders, his arms, his chest, gliding down across his flat stomach. He writhes beneath her with unabashed hunger for her.

Both crave release.

Both never want this delicious torture to end.

The moments and sensations ensnare…

…gasps of fire and fervor…

…taste of lips and mouths and skin…

…musky scent of lovemaking…

…bodies joined as one…

…skin on skin—

* * *

_**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!**_

Leia wearily swatted a hand in the direction of the bedside chrono and missed the operating sensor. The chrono continued its incessant, high-pitched alarm.

Now, with eyes open, she tried again and was successful in rendering the timepiece silent. She lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, waiting for her heart to calm its racing pace. Her gut twinged painfully.

_Just a dream, _she told herself. _Just a stupid dream._

Dropping an arm across her face, Leia realised she was shaking. Why had the chrono's alarm caught her off-guard? Usually she awoke just before it sounded. Had she been so absorbed in her dream that she had forgotten about everything else?

Leia rolled her head, looked at the chrono's readout and abruptly sat up. It was nearly four hours before the alarm was scheduled to sound. She hit the sensor for the lights and checked out the alarm's setting. It was set for four hours hence, just as it should be.

Why had it gone off now?

Her mouth and throat suddenly dry, Leia drank from the flask on the bedside table, holding the container with both hands. She shivered in the room's artificial coolness, grateful for it, knowing that outside the door, the heat would be oppressive.

Gradually, the pulse stopped thumping in her neck. She returned the flask to the table, turned off the lights and settled down under the covers again.

An image of Han flashed through her mind. She screwed her eyes shut, but the vision persisted.

_Why_ _of all the eligible men on this base, do I have to dream about him? I don't even _like_ him!_

There had to be some logical explanation for her to be fantasizing about Han Solo.

Then it occurred to her: the cause of her dream.

Yesterday. It was what she had seen yesterday.

She had gone for a walk away from the transportable huts and hangars of the Rebel base, looking for a small water feature a scout had located nearby. She had headed out over the ochre-coloured ridge and low scrub that surrounded the base, hoping the cool, rock-enclosed spring would ease the terrible headaches that the oppressive heat caused her.

The walk had not been long or overly difficult, merely hot and dusty. Although the ridge was pock-marked and gouged with ancient water holes, all were dry, and she doubted any rain had fallen in this region over the last few Standard years.

Eventually she had climbed to the highest point of the ridge and looked back down at the expanse of camouflaged hangars and huts covered in extensive countermeasure shielding. There was no spring here, she had decided. Either the forward scout had been mistaken, or Leia had gone the wrong way.

Then she had heard it—the faintest splash of water.

Leia had eased herself down a few steps of rock and peered through a crevice. There, not thirty metres from where she sat perched, a pocket of water glimmered in the afternoon sun. The pool lay nestled in a basin carved from the rock, measured no more than ten metres across. Its surface rippled and reflected flickers of light as a swimmer moved beneath it, before breaking through with a gush of breath. She had recognised him immediately.

The swimmer was Han.

For a moment she had nearly called out to him, but as he had seemed unaware of her presence, she instead took the opportunity to covertly watch him.

Hidden behind an outcrop of rock, Leia had watched as long overarm strokes carried him the length of the pool and back. The water was cloudy with disturbed silt, allowing only glimpses of his body as he swam along, legs kicking powerfully.

When he came to the edge of the pool for the third time, he had stopped for a moment, searching for a step or a ledge. Then he stood up, rising from the pool as the water sluiced down his naked body.

Leia's immediate thought had been, _I shouldn't be looking_.

That hadn't stopped her.

She watched. And watched.

Watched as he had turned in the hot sunshine, pushing and shaking the water from his unruly hair, offering her the chance to appreciate the lean lines of his body: the sharp angles of collarbone and trapezius; the curved muscles of shoulder and biceps; the definition of chest and abdomen; the delineation of ligaments sloping from his hips; the toned muscles of thigh, calf and buttock.

Even now, just remembering this encounter, she could sense echoes of what she had felt then, watching him…what her body had felt…

_Enough!_ Leia pulled the pillow across her face. _Enough._

She didn't have the time to be thinking about nonsense such as this.

It was simply a dream. A stupid dream fuelled by a juvenile experience that was unworthy of her. So unworthy of her, she should be embarrassed.

She wasn't sure she was.

One thing she was certain of: her actions had been generated by disconcerting moods she had been experiencing lately. So what if Han Solo happened to be the spark that ignited her more basic emotions? There was no question he was a handsome man. Leia knew she wasn't the only female on base who appreciated the way his hips and backside filled out his trousers.

But it was nothing more than that. Nothing.

They were friends.

She didn't have the sort of feelings for him that she had professed in her dream. And she knew for certain that Han—an arrogant, egotistical, selfish, good-for-nothing smuggler—would never feel, let alone express, something like the depth of emotion for her as he had in her dream.

_Nothing._

Leia pulled the covers up around her shoulders.

_Relax_. _Relax and forget about it. There are more important things to concentrate on. More important things to worry about._

_DO. NOT. THINK. ABOUT. HAN. SOLO._

For long, oppressive moments she lay in her bed, listening to her own heavy breathing and trying not to imagine where Han was at that point in time.

What was he doing?

What was he wearing? Or wasn't.

The refrigerated temperature in the room was unsuccessful in cooling the effect of her dream.

_Just a dream._ _Just a stupid dream…_

Leia sipped at the steaming bitter kaffe, pushed a fork through the remains of an early breakfast, and continued to focus on the datapad in front of her. She had found the disturbing intelligence report she was reading more palatable than the processed mush on her plate.

As it was still a good three hours before shift change and the official start of the base's day, the all-ranks mess hall was nearly deserted. Only a few chairs at the long rows of tables were taken by techs, ordnance staff and other uniformed personnel.

Leia had eaten her breakfast the way she liked it—in relative solitude. The Rebel troops were not inclined to interact with her on an informal level, particularly when she didn't give them the opportunity. It was easier to perform her functions as a leader within the Alliance, to achieve what was expected of her, if she kept social interactions to a minimum.

Easier to be imperturbable and impermeable when she was cold, hard and flat.

Her eyes moved to the mug she held, and she momentarily considered the chipped and bitten nails on her fingers.

_I should be taking better care of myself. Eating better. Sleeping more. Banishing ridiculous fantasies from my mind._

Her gaze was distracted by a newcomer to the mess hall and despite the distance, their eyes met as he ambled towards the food dispensing unit.

Leia averted her eyes from his intense stare, immediately aware of the rush of adrenaline through her system. He was dressed in the sleeveless undershirt he had taken to wearing since they had established this base. Although slightly loose and obviously cooling, the shirt scooped low across the top of his chest, revealed his strong neck and the firm curves of his shoulders and arms. As an item of clothing, Leia found it inappropriate, enticing and acutely distracting.

_Trust the man to have insomnia at the same time I do!_

She turned her attention back to the datapad, staring at the screen but not reading the words, trying to watch Han's movements in the periphery on her vision.

_Please don't let him sit here_. _Not here. Not him_

She lost sight of him as he collected something from one of the food dispensers, and for a moment she thought he had taken a seat some distance from her. Then she heard bootsteps approaching her, tapping on the duracerete floor, and she knew he was heading in her direction.

The blood pounded through her body, loud in her ears.

She sensed more than saw him move down a row only two or three across from hers, place a mug on the table and assume a seat at a slight angle from her.

All she had to do was look up and she would see him.

_Read the report._ _Ignore him and read the damn report._

The words scrolled across the screen, their meaning lost to her. She seemed aware only of the way her stomach pitched and churned, the hammering of her pulse and her shortness of breath.

Images from her dream—and her visit to the water hole—washed through her.

… _him above her, his body hard and naked…_

…_him inside her, a part of her…_

…_his slow, stretching rhythm…_

… _his lean body turning in the hot sun…_

…_scrubbing the water from his hair…_

…_holding onto his broad shoulders…_

…_running her fingers through the fine hair dappled across his chest_

…_astride his hips, her own tantalizing, rhythmic motion…_

Then came the terrible thought that she was being rude, that _he_ knew she knew he was there.

_Read the fucking report._

Because he was a friend, she should acknowledge his presence. She should at least be polite, look up and say 'hello'. She could do that much, couldn't she? Or would he always have this terrifying effect on her?

Leia took a deep, cleansing breath and placed her mug on the table. She willed her fingers to stop shaking and, as casually as she could manage, looked in his direction, found the capacity to nod at him once.

From the way he sat back slightly in his seat, eyes widening, a slight frown pinching the bridge of his nose, she could tell he had been staring at her, surprised that she had eventually looked up. The smile he gave her was more grimace, but her acknowledgement of his presence spurred him into action.

Collecting his drink, he rose from his chair in one smooth motion—just as he had risen after his swim in the water hole—

…_water sluicing from his sides…_

—moved toward her—

…_strong and sensual…_

—his eyes fixed on her—

… _tall and lean and…_

The comlink on the table in front of Leia _chirped_.

Disappointed and relieved by the distraction, she glanced down. The display panel identified the caller as the base commander, General Rieekan. There was no question that she was not going to answer it.

Leia placed the comlink to her ear and received the call. "Commander Organa."

There was silence on the end. Rieekan, if he had been on the line, was no longer there. But instead of a disconnection tone, she could only hear an echo of her own voice.

Han stopped next to her, placed his mug alongside hers on the table. She glanced at him, gave him an apologetic, if nervous, smile as he loomed over her. At such close proximity, she could detect his scent: he'd recently had a water 'fresher and had shaved.

"Yes, General Rieekan," she said into the device, persisting the ruse that the call was occurring.

She mouthed '_Rieekan'_ to Han, pointed at the comlink. Invoking the name of the Alderaanian general installed her with confidence, banished the obscene dream-images from her mind.

"Yes, yes," she said, settling into her lie. "I'm just reading that report now."

She tapped the datapad to substantiate her deception.

Han remained standing next to her, not yet taking a seat, head tilted, waiting, his mouth twisting with either bemusement or suspicion—Leia wasn't sure which.

Han's comlink _trilled_. With a rumble of annoyance, he snagged the device from his gun rig.

"Yes. Yes." Leia wasn't sure what else to say, or where she was headed with this defensive posture she had instinctively adopted.

She offered Han a contrite half-shrug of her shoulders, as if regretting the interruption, but his features had morphed into a scowl. He thrust his comlink towards her, holding the ID display up in front of her eyes.

_RIEEKAN_

Leia met his glare over the top of the comlink.

Han abruptly answered the call. "General Rieekan." He bit out each syllable, his hazel eyes now points of cold, grey steel. "How wonderful to hear your soothing tones."

Unable to look away from him, Leia slowly removed her comlink from her ear, desperately wishing for the pit in her stomach to open up and swallow her.

"Me and Her Lie-ness were just talking about you."

She could sense the tension radiating off him in waves; it felt more than anger, and the way his mouth had frozen into a tight line made her nauseous. She placed her fingers across her lips to stop the bile rising in her throat.

Leia could hear the pleasant murmur of Rieekan's voice from Han's comlink, though not discern the words. She couldn't believe she had been so stupid with her feeble pretense.

"No, she's right here next me." Han's gaze never shifted from hers. "You want me to roll over and wake her up? I think she's a bit tired after what I put her through last night." He winked at her lasciviously. "She can be quite a handful."

Rieekan appeared to have been silenced by Han's comments.

Leia was torn between admitting that she deserved his spiteful fabrication, and disappointed that he willingly attacked her with such coarse and distasteful remarks, remarks that she would have to explain away to Rieekan, even if the Alderaanian general didn't directly raise them with her.

Leia had wanted to tell Han she was sorry. But not now.

Dismissing her with a shake of his head, Han turned and spoke to Rieekan again. "Yeah, look. I can't talk now. _Your_ princess wants more of my attention. Call me back later." He disconnected the call.

Back set firmly towards her, Han strode across the mess hall through the maze of tables, shoving and kicking chairs aside with scant regard for the disruption he was causing. A few Rebels looked up in consternation at the ruckus, frowning at the Corellian leaving furniture in his furious wake, then turning curious eyes towards Commander Organa.

Leia couldn't stop watching the hard line of his shoulders as Han marched away from her, wishing against all hope that he wouldn't punch anyone who got in his way. Fortunately, he only smashed a fist into the entrance doors as he left.

Leia let out the ragged breath she'd been holding. The nausea had sunk into a hard lump in her gut. She suddenly felt more tired than she had for months.

Han's mug sat untouched on the table next to hers, a wisp of kaffe vapour curling into the air.

Leia's comlink chirped again.

It was Rieekan.

* * *

**Final note to Gretchen Amy: **See...we had the same fantasy! Only 20 years apart.


End file.
